


Southern Hospitality

by theychosefamily67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 02:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14607594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theychosefamily67/pseuds/theychosefamily67





	Southern Hospitality

It had been one of those days, where every single thing Dean did made Sam want to punch him in the face. The radio was too loud, the onions were too strong, and the driving was way too fast. 

For the thousandth time, Sam said, “Can you please slow down? The case isn’t going anywhere and I’d like to get to Arkansas in one piece.”

Dean scoffed at him, “Sam, you’re way too young to be actin’ like such a little old lady.”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Dean looked over, pulling his foot of the gas just a little. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sam looked back at Dean, hands waving wildly at the speedometer. “You’re driving like a maniac!” 

“I’m driving the same speed I always drive Sam. What’s going on?”

Sam stared at him for a moment before dropping his hands in his lap. “Nothin’,” he mumbled.

They drove for a few moments in silence before Dean muttered, “Okay.” He pulled off the road into a diner parking lot, throwing the car in park and turning to face Sam. “Talk to me.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, his hands worrying at a hole in his jeans. “It’s just…you’ve only got a few months left man. We should be looking for the demon that holds your contract, not…” Sam picked up the news article Dean had found, “this.”

Dean started at Sam for a moment, worry creasing his brow, before he sighed in exasperated affection. “I know, man. But these people need our help, and we have no leads on that right now. So, in the meantime, family business…right?” He hadn’t told Sam the other part of the deal, that if he weaseled his way out of the demon’s deal in any way, then Sam would die.

Sam tossed the article on the seat. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Wanna get somethin’ to eat?” Dean gestured toward the 50’s style diner in front of them.

Sam shrugged.

“Come on Sam, I’m starving, whattya say?”

“You’re always starving,” Sam smirked.

“That’s because I’m a warrior, and warriors need sustenance.” Dean smiled, opening the driver’s side door and getting out.

Once their burgers and shakes arrived, Sam started digging into the lore. “I think I found it.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, mouth full of food.

Sam gave him a look before continuing. “Yeah. So get this, there’s a local legend of something called the Fouke Monster.”

“The what?”

“It’s also called the Beast of Boggy Creek. It says here that various reports between 1971 and 1974 described the creature as being a large hominid-like creature covered in long dark hair, which was estimated to be about 7 feet tall, weighing about 250–300 pounds. Witnesses said that its chest was about 3 feet wide. Later reports, published during the early 1980s, claimed that it was far larger, with one report describing it as large as 10 feet tall, with an estimated weight of 800 pounds.”

“So, like, a Sasquatch?”

“Yeah, it says some refer to it as the Southern Sasquatch.”

“Oh great. So this is a wild goose chase,” Dean tossed his burger on his plate in disgust.

“What? Why do you say that?”

“Oh come on Sam, everyone knows Sasquatch isn’t real!”

“Yeah, but this isn’t Sasquatch, this might actually be something.”

“Doubtful,” Dean grumbled, picking his burger back up again.

“Dean, three people have died already. So, shouldn’t we at least check this out?”

______________________________________________________________

“I cannot believe I agreed to this,” Dean snarled. He was knee deep in swamp water, swatting at mosquitoes, hoping the demon would take him now instead.

“Would you calm down?” Sam shushed him, crouching in front of Dean in the bushes.

“Oh yeah, you’re right. I should stay calm, it can probably sense fear!” Dean snarked.

Sam rolled his eyes before putting the binoculars back in front of them, searching the swamp for any sign of the Fouke monster. 

A few hours and a thousand bug bites later, they finally gave up, hauling themselves out of the swamp.

Dean tried to scrape as much of the mud off his boots as he could before getting in his baby. Sam was placing the weapons back in the trunk when he felt a large hand grab his shoulder.

“Oh ha ha Dean, very funny…” Sam turned, expecting to see Dean, but instead he saw an 8 foot tall hairy creature, staring down at him.

“Dean!” Sam struggled to pull out of the creature’s grasp as Dean ran to the back of the car, grabbing the shotgun from the trunk.

When Dean raised the gun the Fouke monster let go of Sam, raising its hands in the air. It was…surrendering?

“Don’t shoot!” Sam yelled.

“What? Why?!” Dean asked, finger on the trigger.

“Look, it’s not going to hurt us!”

Dean lowered the shotgun, slowly, and scooted within protective arm’s reach of Sam.

The Fouke monster lowered its arms, making a low grunting noise.

“What is it? What are you trying to tell us?”

He motioned for them to follow him and began walking back into the swamp.

“Are we…are we seriously going to follow this thing?” Dean scoffed.

“Dean, come on. If it wanted to kill us it could have, but it didn’t.”

“This is crazy,” Dean grumbled, grabbing the flashlights and throwing one to Sam.

They followed the Fouke monster for about a half a mile, deep into the swamp. They almost lost their boots a few times, and the Fouke monster stood patiently and waited on them while they pulled them out of the muck.

Finally they reached a cabin that looked like only the termites were holding it up. The monster stopped, pointing towards the cabin and grunting.

“You want us to go in there?” Sam asked.

The monster nodded, pointing more urgently, its grunts turning into whining.

“Ok, ok, we’re going.”

Sam and Dean walked towards the cabin, exchanged a look, and pushed the door open.

Inside were the three people that had been reported dead, very much alive. Alive, but also very sick. The mother and father were in the bed, and the little girl was on the couch. They were extremely pale and weak. They couldn’t stand when Sam tried to help them out of the bed. Dean found some tree branches and they made a litter. He and Sam carried the family members one by one to the Impala. They took them to the nearest hospital, waiting to make sure they were going to make it. According to the nurse, the family had gone into the swamp to bird watch and gotten horribly lost. They made the mistake of drinking the water and all three had come down with Beaver Fever. (Dean giggled at that, and Sam kicked him in the shin.) They tried to phone for help but there was no reception in the swamp. They made it as far as the old hunting cabin and had to stop, they were too weak to go on. It was a good thing Sam and Dean had found them, the nurse said. Did they want to stick around and say hello?

“No ma’am, we really should be going. Glad we could help though,” Dean said, standing from the chairs in the waiting room and shaking the nurse’s hand.

“Thank you boys,” the nurse turned and shook Sam’s hand. “The world needs more people like you in it.”

They walked out of the hospital and Sam breathed in the humid night air, expelling the sterile, sick, sad hospital air from his lungs. They hopped in the car, slamming the doors, and sat in silence for a moment before Dean chuckled.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Sasquatch is real, Sam.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah. Well, the southern one is anyway.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief before he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, on to save more people and hunt more things, for as long as he could before his time was up.


End file.
